


The Long Seperations

by LynnMacy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Babies, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Heterosexual Sex, I live for saddness, Penis In Vagina Sex, Politics, Post-Time Skip, Pregnancy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, everything's better with babies, yes suffer my pretties suffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnMacy/pseuds/LynnMacy
Summary: Claude and Byleth are separate rulers of two large and expansive kingdoms, and thus are constantly separated from each other, sometimes for months at a time. This fic explores their relationship and their struggle to remain connected despite the long distances between them. Spoiley spoilers are within. And also smut.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I retired from fanfic writing years ago, but Three Houses dragged me back kicking and screaming. God I love Claude so fucking much.
> 
> I'm still quite a bit rusty. I couldn't even add in really nasty stuff. In fact, you can see the exact point where I decided to make this more fluff then smut lol. 
> 
> Quite a bit of liberty taken with the lore, but from what you would expect since Almyra is clearly an amalgamation of Persia/Iran, Kazakhstan, etc.

Chapter 1

Claude hated, more than anything, the long separations.

He was the king of Almyra, and she was the queen of the United Fodlan. Her capital was in Derdriu, the aquatic capital, high in the northwest of the former Alliance territory. And his capital was in Parsa, far to the east. Journeying between the two, even on the fastest wyvern, took about a week and a half. And that was with the hope that there would be no distractions like bandits or pirates or angry nests of wyverns, or some other magical beast. And there was no promise either of them would ever be in the same place. In her letters to him, she had talked about visits to Enbarr, the rebuilding of Fort Merceus, even a diplomatic visit to Brigid. She was rarely in Derdriu at all.

Claude closed his eyes serenely, listening to his high vizier drone on and on. If he could get this over with and quickly finish his other responsibilities, in at least the next five days, he would have enough time to mount his pure white wyvern, Cherche, and visit Byleth. She was finally back in Derdriu. He would only be able to spare a week to be with her, but it would be so worth it. He couldn’t wait to rest his head on her soft supple breasts, so pillowy soft-

“Your highness, are you paying attention to me?” Nurlan barked, peering over him from his scroll.

Claude smiled, “Oh Nurlan, _me_? Not pay attention? Perish the thought!”

Nurlan, the high vizier, narrowed his eyes, “Oh? Then, please refresh my memory, I can’t remember, was it the fortifications in Shiraz or Bam that we needed to survey?”

Claude smiled sweetly, “Oh Nurlan, Nurlan, you _are_ getting old. Obviously we have to survey both castles. We wouldn’t want either area to be in any danger should they be attacked by-” at this Claude rolled his eyes dramatically, as if thinking hard, “oh now _I’m_ losing my memory Nurlan. Who exactly are we fortifying against?”

Nurlan sighed, rubbing his temples, “My king, please-“

Claude held up his arm, “I’ll have you know that I have been paying attention. I just don’t see why we need to keep up so many fortifications, especially so close to the border with Fodlan.”

“The nobles don’t feel comfortable without them”

Now it was Claudes turn to sigh. Despite his wedding to the Queen of Fodlan, despite the opening of Fodlans Locket and his declaration of a renewed era of peace, there were still many who did not trust that there was no longer any need for such fortifications. They didn’t trust the new status quo; though to be more accurate, they didn’t trust him.

Old habits died hard. In Fodlan, one could be a weakling on the battlefield and still rule. In Almyra, you didn’t need just blood, but strength. When he had returned to Almyra, Claude had more than proven his martial prowess. He had even defeated Nader the Undefeated in one on one combat, which had earned him admiration from not just many nobles but his father, the king. That was one of the reasons he had abdicated for him; the previous king was getting older and in Almyra old meant weak, and no longer fit to rule.

Most of the nobles and clans in Almyra accepted him after that. But there would be some he would never be able to convince. Those who still called him a mutt, a half-breed, a disgrace as king. Those who looked like they had sucked a particularly sour lemon when they had to bow in his presence. The ones who had probably sent all those assassins after him when he was younger and unable to defend himself. The revenge of watching them bow to him now was sweet, but empty. He would never be able to convince them and they would always be a thorn in his side.

Especially since he had married a Fodlanese bride. That really pissed them off.

“Fine”, Claude was already moving. He didn’t have much time; who knew how long she was going to be in Derdriu this time?

“I’ll survey Shiraz and Bam, finish the paper work you have been dying to have me complete, visit some of the Lydian satraps, the Karluk clan, blah blah. I’ll do all of it in five days, and then I’m doing to Derdriu to spend a heavenly week with my wife. Is that all right with you Nurlan?”

Nurlan had no choice but to concede. There was no point in arguing with his liege anyway; he was already stomping out the door.

\---

It had actually taken him two weeks to get to Derdriu. Of course he ran into a wyvern nest and Cherche, bless her heart, couldn’t help but sexually harass her wild kin. It hadn’t made the wild female wyverns happy and they spent three days constantly running from them.

He landed in Derdriu in the middle of the night, patting Cherche on her face as he dismounted.

“My sweet, I promise I’ll find you a mate. Just please don’t harass the other wyvern while I’m here”

He could never be mad at his darling wyvern. After all, he was in heat too.

He left Cherche in the care of his Immortal Corps, and walked into Derdriu castle. It was the middle of the night and so quiet and he was thankful for that. No greetings, no curtseys and bows. Nothing to hold him back from what he really wanted.

Claude finally came upon the master suite. He nodded at the guard in the front who stepped aside to let him in.

It was a cool Lone Moon and a fire was crackling in the hearth, leaving a warm glow in the room. The room itself hadn’t changed much from how he remembered it, though there certainly was more books. It was a testament to Byleths intelligence, and love of reading, rivaling even his own. Five bookshelf’s filled to the brim. And, of course, a table and a tea set. He could tell it had been used tonight, he could smell the Almyran pine needles in the room. It wasn’t even her favorite tea, but he knew why she drank it. She missed him. It made his heart burn.

The one he wanted was in the royal bed, curled up on her side, wrapped in a fluffy Pegasus down comforter. He could spy her mint green hair peeking over the cover and hear her soft breath on the pillow. He missed her so much, his chest ached.

He stalked over to her sleeping body, stripping of his leather gloves, and letting them fall to the floor. It had been a month, and he didn’t care about pointless cleaning. He was so close.

He leaned over her sleeping head, watching her breath for a bit. He was always so captivated by her. The goddess who had saved him, who had made all of his dreams come true.

“Byleth” he whispered, his lips barely brushing her cheeks, “I’m back”

Byleth’s eyes shot open, causing Claude to quickly back up in fear that she would smack him on the head.

“Claude!” Byleth, always a light sleeper, was quick. She grabbed his neck, his head resting in the crook of her neck as she locked him a crushing hug. Yes, he thought, leaning into the hug and wrapping his own arms around her, she missed me.

“I had no idea you would be back tonight, why didn’t you write?”

“You wrote to me that you would be back in Derdriu this week, and I thought it would be a nice surprise to meet you here”

“Meet me?”

“I was caught up on the way”

“Bandits?”

“So many questions! Once a teach, always a teach, huh?”

She had been gripping him tightly during their exchange, relishing in bodily contact. It had been a whole month since they had felt each other. She didn’t want to let go.

Claude hummed quietly, also enjoying the contact. He could feel every mold of her body; craving more, he started kissing the crook of her neck over and over, working his way up, leaving a trail of saliva as he went. He worked his tongue into each kiss, getting a taste of her as we worked his way up to her jawline.

Byleth sighed into his kisses, eyes closed, leaning her head to offer up more of her neck. Claude was gripping her so tightly that she could feel the strong beating of his heart against her chest. It was so strong she could feel the vibrations in her own chest, past her thin night gown. She loved it; how it made her feel like she herself had a beating heart, or that they shared a single one.

They said nothing, simply relishing in the close contact that they had been denied for a month.

Claude finally reached her cheek, tracing kisses until he reached her soft velvety lips. His tongue teased open her lips, caressing her own tongue, tasting the remnants of the Almyran pine. She leaned into the kiss as well, tongues lapping at each other.

After what seemed like forever, Claude pulled away with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting him with Byleths mouth.

He stared into Byleths deep green eyes, reaching back to plant one last chaste kiss on her lips before reluctantly letting her go.

He undressed in silence, as Byleth looked on, a wan smile on her lips. After all this time, there was no need for either of them to say anything. She removed her silk night gown.

Claude kicked off his small clothes with a smirk, flinging them halfway across the room. Byleth giggled. On their wedding night he had dared her to throw their small clothes from the balcony onto the last few wedding guests who were still milling about, to get them to leave faster. She still remembered his naked body bolting from their bed and quickly catching her panty in the air. When he had returned to their bed, he kissed her face again and again, laughing, warning that he would punish her for taking his jest seriously.

He finally crawled into bed, covering Byleths body with his own. He laid his chest upon hers, resting upon his forearms, gazing into her eyes. He peppered her face with quick kisses, and Byleth giggled; it was their wedding night all over again.

“How much did you miss me, while you were in Enbarr?” Claude asked, green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“So much” Byleth replied, running a hand through his mussy hair, and bringing her own self up to kiss his nose, and lips.

Claude flashed a mischievous smile. “Did you miss me this much?” He had reached a hand down to fondle her mound, fingers touching the dampness that was building there.

Byleth sighed, repeating _so much_, _so much_, as Claude repeated his ministrations. He had found her sensitive nub and was caressing it, staring at Byleth as she sighed in contentment. Her breath hitched when he crooked in a single finger, and then two, three. He moved slowly, practically purring as he watched her body slowly, relax, and then unravel. He loved the heat on his palm, her heavy lidded eyes, her cooing of _so much_, _so much_. He wanted this to last.

But the night wouldn’t last forever. He didn’t have nearly as much time as he wanted. And time was ticking down, ever closer, to the end of the week. And he had already lost three days.

He removed his fingers, and put them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tips of his fingers and knuckles. She tasted wonderful, as usual. When he put his saliva covered fingers back inside, she moaned.

He smirked, staring at her form underneath him. He grabbed her hand and led it to his already painful erection, having her stroke him lovingly.

“This,” he breathed heavily, “was how much I missed you”

He removed his soaked fingers and leveled himself at her entrance. He teased the opening with his tip, and she moaned again, nails digging into the soft silk covers.

Claude took his time, pressing himself into her warm folds. Byleth whimpered underneath him, legs wrapping around his waist and arms around his back. He swallowed her whimpers with his mouth, rocking until he was finally sheathed inside of her.

Claude rose from Byleth’s chest to admire his handiwork. Where the two of them met, soft, trimmed green hair met his wirey brown. He loved to look at where they connected. Grabbing her legs, he made a shallow thrust, groaning as he watched himself go in and out.

“Y-ya know, I’ve been waiting for this, “Claude said, looking away from his steadily increased thrusting, to Byleths closed eyes, bouncing breasts and open mouth “for _weeks_”. He practically hissed the last part out.

He leaned over her again, licking the inside of her waiting open mouth. He moved a hand to rub at the neglected nub, hovering right over his increasingly hurried cock. Suddenly a hand reached out, grabbing him by the hair and keeping him there, mouth to mouth. When Byleth finally released him, he noticed tears in her eyes and his breath hitched. He wasn’t hurting her was he? But he had been so gentle…

“By, I’m not hurting you-“ The question remained unasked as Byleth rose a hand to his head, making him rest in the crook of her neck. She leaned her own head on his, sighing deeply.

“Don’t leave me”, she whispered hand clenched tight in his hair.

He raised a hand to her face, turning it so that they were face to face.

“I won’t By”, his thrusting continued faster, but his eyes never left her face, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t”

When they finally both came, he was still whispering those desperate words to her.

\---

Byleth was resting on Claudes warm chest, as he rubbed circles on her back. She was back in her favorite spot, where she could sit between his legs and keep an ear to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. It was always the perfect ending to their lovemaking; his heartbeat so strong that she could hear it vibrate in her eardrums. Again she imagined that they had a single heartbeat, shared a single form. That even though they may be separated time and time again, they would inevitably return back to each other.

How else could she have known, in her unconscious haze, to return the very same day when Claude would return to the monastery? How else could he have known when to fly his wyvern over the sea, to rescue her in Derdriu right on the precipice of defeat? How else could they have defeated Nemesis, when one mistake, one misread cue could have spelled doom?

That’s why no matter what, Byleth truly believed Claude would always return. The separations may be long, but they weren’t permanent.

She looked up at him, eyes close to sleep, lazily rubbing her back. 

“How long this time?” she asked quietly.

“I have to return in four days” he whispered, hand stilling to pull her closer to his chest, “But if you’re still in Derdriu I can return in a week. And then, if no clan declares a blood feud or something, I can spend three weeks of Great Tree Moon with you. I promise.” He looked down at her, eyes full of emotion, “I will return to you”.

Byleth smiled, closing her eyes.

“I know you will”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew and thus ends my long retirement! I plan on continuing, probably with pregnancy and babies and more suffering. God, so much more suffering, so much more fluff, inject that shit right into my veins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, I'm alive! I'm sorry, I'm already a slow writer and I've also been playing through Dimitri's route. You guys understand right? Right?
> 
> There's no smut this chapter (I'm sorry) but there are hints of smut. And that sweet plot build up will make the smut all the more sweeter, I think, probably.

As it turned out, a clan DID declare a blood feud.

And now, instead of happily snuggling between Byleths breasts, here he was, in his office, during Great Tree Moon. With Nurlan. _Again_.

Though this time the situation was a bit dire. So he half-listened, while listlessly daydreaming about his last night with Byleth. He had taken her on the floor, the wall, the bed again, the balcony when it was dark and they were feeling especially adventurous. He had truly indulged himself, and he couldn’t help but smile remembering Byleth crying out his name again and again-

“Your highness, please, this is serious”, Nurlan slapped the table, startling Claude out of his reverie, “If we do not do something soon the situation could spiral out of control”.

“Nurlan this is the first time I’ve heard you yell at me! It hurts.” Claude rubbed his cheek, feigning hurt feelings.

“Because you were not paying attention and time is of the essence”, Nurlan narrowed his eyes at Claude, straightening himself to full height, “If we don’t do something about his blood feud…”

The Tashkent and Ferghana clans bordered Fodlans Locket, and were embroiled in the middle of a blood feud. A young brash Tashkent man had insulted an elderly Ferghana woman pretty severely in the marketplace. Claude thought that it was a relatively minor thing to start a blood feud over, and had no problem telling Nurlan.

“This seems silly” Claude told Nurlan, flipping through the notes he had received from his officers in the region, “why not just let them fight it out? We usually let the clans handle themselves unless it’s something serious and this…is not.”

“The Tashkent and Ferghana clans are both allies and enemies” Nurlan replied, twisting his beard thoughtfully, “They share grazing land, but because they are so close they often spark conflict. Usually a situation like this would call for a test of combat. They would send out a cadre of warriors across the border as a way to ease tensions. Whichever warrior group gains the most honor in combat wins the feud.”

“Ah I see,” Claude looked up thoughtfully, “Attack across the border to Fodlan so that they don’t have to attack each other. And now…”

Nurlan nodded his head, “Yes, and now because we have an alliance with Fodlan they no longer have anyone to attack.”

Nurlan continued, looking Claude in his eyes, “And the situation is worse than that. The clans are quite angry right now your Highness. The blood feud is one thing, but what about when a child comes of age? Usually they would send the child across the border with family in order to taste battle but now that is impossible. Not to mention their tradition of sending the bridegroom to prove himself in combat during a wedding. Many of their traditions have ended abruptly and they blame you.”

He was right of course. Peace with Fodlan had come at a price.

Combat was a way of life for the clans of Almyra. It brought shame, brought pride, brought war and brought peace. There was ritual fighting for a wedding, a birth, a coming of age.

Claude sighed, “You would think they would be happy to no longer lose family and friends to fighting at the border…”

Nurlan nodded, “One would think”

Claude sighed again. This was what he had to change. He had to change his homeland from the ground up. This was why he had done all he had done, and why he was sacrificing so much.

And by the gods and spirits and whatever else may or may not exist in the world, he was going to bring Almyra into permanent peace with Fodlan, even if he had to drag them kicking and screaming.

Claude stretched himself in his favorite pose, pulling his hands behind his head, “Alright Nurlan! I have a plan!”

Nurlan closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, “That is what I was afraid of”

“Nurlan, Nurlan, when have I ever steered you wrong?! Now, contact the clan leaders of the Tashkent and Ferghana, and tell them that I want them to meet me at Fodlans Locket.”

“And what of you, your highness?”

Claude smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I need to contact an old friend”.

\---

Byleth was on her knees in front of the latrine, wistfully picking at her white Queens garb which was now stained in a yellow gunk. This was why she preferred black; you could wash anything out of black, even blood. But her advisors had nearly had a conniption when she tried to go out in her old coat and when she had tried to just wear her tights they had something close to a brain aneurysm.

Oh well. She could still wear them in bed with Claude. He appreciated them. _Really_ appreciated them.

She smiled at the thought of him. The letters came damn near daily and that still wasn’t enough.

She missed waking up to his soft breath on the top of her head. How he would wake up rubbing his eyes, smiling (so cute so cute, she couldn’t help but think). The smell of Almyran pine needles brewing when he finally got up. She had yelled at him to at least put on some clothes while he was brewing tea, but he had only winked (‘what you don’t like what you see?’ That had earned him a pillow in the face.).

Derdriu was beautiful. She loved helping her people, and they loved her in return. Being called the “Saviour Goddess” was a much more pleasant situation then being called the “Ashen Demon”.

But she still felt alone. Seteth was busy with the church. All of her students and friends and gone off to their own territories and lives. Oh she still saw so many of them at court (especially Lorenz) but not nearly enough to stave off the loneliness. Only Flayn, had remained to stay with her at Derdriu, but even she was a small comfort. She was there partially because she loved her like a sister, true, but she was mostly there to finally learn independence away from her…brother.

The only thing that completely removed her loneliness was sitting in Claudes lap, sipping tea while the sun rose lazily over the horizon. It didn’t matter if he was feeling silly (“and then he said, that’s not a wyvern _that’s my wife_! C’mon By that was funny!”) or serious, (“I’m sorry it has to be like this. But it won’t be forever. I love you more than anything so…just know it won’t be forever”), or lustful (no words, just a hand slinking its way between her thighs). It didn’t matter. Just being near him removed her loneliness.

His last letter had talked about an important meeting he had to attend at Fodlans Locket during Harpstring Moon. He would only be at the border for three days and he had made it clear that he didn’t expect that she would be able to meet with him:

_I know you have business in the old Faerghus territories, and they’re still very weak (are you still worried about Sreng? Please tell me if you need reinforcements. **BEFORE** you head out By, not after. And don’t say you don’t need them. Scratch that, I’m sending them anyway.). So don’t worry about meeting me here, focus on yourself. You don’t need to worry about me, I can handle a few clan leaders!_

She knew what he was trying to do. To make sure she does not worry about him. So that she could focus on her work without guilt.

She smiled. So like him to try and cover his true feeling with some humor and a smile.

Byleth pulled herself up from the latrine, still feeling slightly queasy. This time, Fodlan would simply have to wait. She had given so much to the country, and would continue to. But this time, she would take for herself. And Claude had told her to focus on herself right?

She would meet with him at Fodlans Locket. As soon as she got over this flu or stomach bug she had. She would go to the royal doctor and get herself looked over first and then inform Hilda to prepare a room for her.

\---

Claude turned his head to the right, where he sat at the head of the long table. To his right were Hilda, Holst, their father, advisers and behind them a guard of brawny women wielding axes. To his left, the clan leaders and their retainers. He stared at Hilda, until he caught her attention. She raised her eyebrows in question. He promptly stuck his tongue out at her, earning a sharp elbow to his rib from Nurlan.

6 hours. They had been sitting at the table for 6 hours.

He had been perfectly kingly the first five hours. He had proposed the treaty, which would entail letting the clans ‘train’ with the knights at the border. Of course, by _train_ he meant letting them fight the knights of House Goneril on special pre-arranged days. It was supposed to be the perfect compromise; the clans would get to fight, and House Goneril would continue to not have to deal with serious Almyran threats.

But ironing out the details was a nightmare. The clans balked at picking specific days (what if the date for the wedding isn’t auspicious?), and House Goneril had demanded everyone use training weapons, so that no one got seriously injured. That was a mistake because now the clan leaders were spitting that the Fodlanese were cowards and now the female warriors were starting to grumble and flex menacingly and handling them all was becoming a handful.

Luckily Hilda got the message. She stood up, clapping her hands together, “Alright enough. We’ve all been sitting here long enough and everyone’s nerves are getting frayed. Let’s take a break a reconvene in two hours”.

Holst nodded, “My sister is correct. Let’s all take a much needed break”

Everyone shuffled out, leaving only Claude and Hilda. Claude smiled at her, his most cherished friend from his old academy days. Byleth had been his love but Hilda was his comrade in arms. She had never treated him as an outsider, was as smart as a tack when she wanted to be, and was always game for a plot or two. Besides the letters from Byleth, her letters were the ones he most looked forward to. Even after all this time, she was still his best friend.

“I’m glad you got my message, I was almost afraid I was going to have to bring out Failnaught”

Hilda rolled her eyes, “I can’t believe you’re still making me do work, Mr. King”

Claude shrugged, “Hey I’m not the one who made you come to this meeting, that was all Holst”

Hilda huffed, “And I could strangle him for it. Anyway, you should head up to your room, I left a surprise there for you!”

“You, sneaking in a surprise? I’m shocked you put in any effort to anything like that.”

Hilda turned on her heel, with a wink, “Oh I didn’t actually do anything at all. And I learned all my sneaking from the best”. And with a flounce she was gone.

\---

Claude walked up the steps to his room. He didn’t bother to unbutton his jacket or try to relax. He would have to return to the negotiation table in less than two hours anyway. The most he could hope for was a cup of tea and some silence to clear his head and nerves to continue the negotiations.

As he walked up the steps he could smell the Almyran pine tea’s sharp scent wafting down. Ah, so that’s what Hilda was up to, he thought. She made me tea…the sweet little minx. Claude smiled, imagining Hilda actually working to get his specific brand of tea and then actually making it. He’d have to get her something as a gift.

When he opened the door, his thoughts changed abruptly. No, not a sweet little minx, he thought. A devil. An absolute devilish weasel.

There, in the middle of the room was his wife, Byleth. She was wrapped in her old black mercenary jacket, but dressed in a simple black dress. When he entered she turned to face him sharply. Too sharply; had she been pacing?

But that didn’t matter right now. In two steps he had crossed the room, wrapping her up in his arms and spinning. This was a far better surprise then tea. He was going to get Hilda a gold hair pin; no two. Maybe three if Byleth was staying all three days.

Byleth immediately started shaking her head and swatting his arms, “Claude no, don’t spin me, put me down!”

He obliged only to take her face in his hands and plant a kiss on her lips. He intended to deepen it, but Byleth pulled away, shaking her head, lips pursed.

Claude frowned. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. Usually she was overjoyed to see him. But right now she looked pale. She was frowning and she wasn’t looking at him at all.

Claude’s frown deepened as Byleth continued to look away. She was leaning forward slightly and her arms were wrapped around her stomach. His brain went into overdrive. Hilda had been happy, so it wasn’t something she knew about. And wasn’t Byleth supposed to be in old Faerghus? She must be here to tell him something so important that she didn’t go. But what could be so important? Was she sick of him? Was she finally leaving him?

He couldn’t fault her if she was. The cold nights and distance undoubtly wore on her. But he felt an uncharacteristic surge of possessiveness swell within him. He had already told her at the Goddess Tower he would never let her go and he meant it. He would abdicate the throne to one of his many cousins, and live in Derdriu, if it came to that. And if she didn’t want him anymore, he would work as a janitor at the palace, just so that he could see her every day. 

“Byleth, I-“he started, ready to pour out his feelings, only for her to turn and run to the far corner of the room. Before he could say anything, she bent over and vomited all over the floor. He blandly noted that the vomit was all a lite brown; Almyran pine tea.

She let it all out and then wearily laid down on her back on the bed, motioning for Claude to join her. He walked over and laid down beside her, letting his legs hang off the edge with hers. He turned to his side and wrapped her up in his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder blade.

He looked at her with a mixture of pity and concern, “By, if you were sick you shouldn’t have come here. I told you in my letter I wasn’t going to be here that long in the first place. You didn’t have to come”

She gave a very small shake of her head and wrapped her arms around Claude’s neck, “I had to”.

Claude scoffed, “You just couldn’t miss this disaster of diplomacy? Well I have to tell you By you didn’t miss much- “

“Claude” she cut him off, staring at him hard. His eyes met hers at attention; he knew that tone meant to shut up.

“I’m pregnant”

\---

In her time as a mercenary Byleth had beheaded many many people. She had found that sometimes, if the blade was very quick, the persons head wouldn’t even notice they were beheaded. They would all have that same wide eyed look about them, mouth open, almost like they were asking, “hey, how did my head get on the ground and separated from my body?”

She couldn’t help but darkly think that Claude looked very similar to those heads right now.

Claude sputtered, wide eyed, “Y-you’re what?”

Suddenly Byleth was thankful for her emotionally dry face, for not betraying the thoughts in her brain, “Pregnant Claude. We’re having a baby.”

Claude’s eyes were darting around, breath now coming out in hot pants, like he could barely get the words together. Byleth could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. If just two simple words were what it took to finally break the great trickster, the master tactician, then Byleth would have used them a lot sooner.

“W-when? How?”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, “You’re seriously asking how?”

“Byleth please”

“The week you stayed in Lone Moon. The doctors say I’m about three months”

She took a moment to let him assess all the information. His eyes were still darting, but at least his breathing had calmed down. He was still holding her tightly; she hadn’t even noticed how tightly when she found she couldn’t move.

He eased up when she moved her hand, clasping it to his suddenly sweaty face, “Claude are you all right?”

He shook his head; she couldn’t tell if it was an affirmation or a denial, “There’s so much that has to be done. So much I have to do.”

Byleth frowned, “So you’re unhappy?”

“No, no!” Claude shook his head, “I’m ecstatic! It’s just…the world I wanted to create for our child. A world where there is no inside or outside. Where they can be free to be who they are, without anyone trying to hurt them. That world isn’t ready yet. Dammit, I’m in negotiations _right now_ trying to convince people that they don’t have to kill each other in order to get along.” He brought his face into Byleth’s neck, “My parents raised me in order to handle a world that hated me. I don’t want to raise our child like that.”

Byleth closed her eyes. She remembered what he had told her about his childhood. His parents loved him, but there was no soft words, or hugs or comfort after teasing. He was expected to tough it up, and stand strong. Even when rocks were thrown. Even after assassination attempts. In fact, the only time his parents had ever comforted him after an assassination attempt, it was when the assassin had actually managed to draw blood, cutting his arm. As he lay on the ground, and the assassin raised his sword for the final blow, his mother had miraculously flown in, stabbing the assassin to death. She remembered how Claude had looked back rather fondly on the memory; after that close call his mother had hugged him close, and rarely let him out of her sight for the next three months. He even slept curled up safely between his mother and father.

His fondest childhood memory was in the aftermath of an assassination. Byleth understood; he wanted happier childhood memories for their child.

She felt a sudden wetness on her shoulder blade, and brought her hands into his dark wiry hair, running her fingers through it.

“It’s alright,” she cooed, “We’ll protect them. We’ll protect them together”

\---

Claude was striding across the courtyard, ignoring the delicately tended to garden and pools. He was looking for his father, who he knew would be either in the garden’s courtyard, or in the training grounds. He had already checked the training grounds (and had managed to run away from his mother who was already there), so that only left the gardens.

He found him at the pavilion, a small structure covered by a roof and surrounded by columns. He was leaning back on dozens of brightly colored pillows, feet up, with a hookah dangling from his mouth. Extravagant as always, Claude couldn’t help but think.

Ruslan the Mighty opened one eye and smirked, “I know that step anywhere. If it isn’t my son, back from a diplomatic excursion. Well boy, how did it go?”

Claude sat heavily on the pillows opposite his father and leaned back, “If you’re not going to call me ‘your highness’ or anything like that the least you could do is not call me boy. I’m far off from being a child anymore”

Ruslan closed his eyes, and took a puff of his hookah, “So I guess the diplomatic mission didn’t go well?”

Claude rolled his eyes, playing with a tassel on a pillow absentmindedly, “No, it went fine. We worked out an agreement that the clans are happy with and that House Goneril can live with. All’s well that ends well.”

Ruslan lazily opened one eye, “Then what do you want?”

“Is this how you treat your only son? Mayhaps I just wanted to say hello to my father?”

“I know for a fact that you do not.”

“And how would you know that for a _fact_?”

Ruslan waved his hand, finally opening his eyes fully, “Enough japes Claude, I know you too well. What do you want?”

Claude looked at the ceiling of the pavilion, finding the intricate pattern there far more appealing then looking at his father right now.

“Byleth is pregnant”

Ruslans opened eyes widened and he gave a broad smile. Ever since the wedding, when he had challenged her to a duel and lost soundly he had loved his daughter in law. And when his wife, Ludmilla, challenged her and also lost, she had practically adopted the woman as the daughter she had always wanted.

He gave a strong belly laugh and slapped his knee, “Well it’s about time! I didn’t know you had it in you. Congratulations! And the answer is no”

Claude blinked, finally peeling his eyes away from the ceiling to look at his father, “The answer to what?”

Ruslan took a long puff of his hookah and leaned back, “You want something. Byleth is pregnant. You want to spend time with your wife. You want me to fill in for you as king. The answer is no.”

Well. No one had ever accused his father of being an idiot, that’s for certain. He was better off just letting it all out rather than trying to slyly work the question in.

“Just for three months. I just want to help her with the late stages and see the child when it’s born.”

“She is the queen of the entire nation of Fodlan and she can’t find someone to rub her feet and bring her food?”

Claude clenched his fists, feeling himself becoming increasingly frustrated, “Ah I’m sorry father, you seem _so terribly busy_ and all in your retirement, I’m sure you would struggle to make time for this”

His father was nonplussed. “What did I tell you when you came to me and requested the throne?”

He finally looked directly into Claude’s eyes, staring at him hard, “Did I not tell you that being king entails sacrifices? That you might have to make hard decisions as king? And that no matter what, when you have to make these choices the kingdom comes first?”

Claude stared back, “Like sacrificing the orphans and widows during the last war with Fodlan? Those kinds of sacrifices?”

Ruslan sighed, “A king is powerful but not all powerful Claude. I can’t save everyone. ”

“Then what about me? You very nearly sacrificed me”

Father and son looked at each other. Ruslan knew what he was referring to, the closest assassination attempt on his life. He had followed shouting in the courtyard and found his wife, who could give even Nader a run for his money, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, clutching Claude to her chest. He could still remember Claude staring at him, wide-eyed and in shock, covered in the assassin’s blood.

He had practically purged the palace after that, replacing every guard, killing every person involved in the plot. But Claude was never quite the same after. He started slinking around, locking himself in his room building traps and mixing poisons. Yes, he knew he had sacrificed if not the whole person, something within Claude. 

Claude stood up to his full height, his eyes never leaving his fathers, “I don’t intend on sacrificing this child, or anything else. I’m going to change the world itself, so that no one has to sacrifice anything. But this…this is just something I want for myself. I want to be with my wife and I want to see my child when it’s born. I’m asking a favor, from my father.”

Ruslan looked at his son and took another puff of his hookah. It reminded him of when he had requested Nadir and a number of reinforcements during that civil war in Fodlan. He was determined even then to change the world. And maybe this boy could really do it.

“Fine. Three months. But if you’re even a single day late don’t come crying to me when one of your cousins raises some army in a coup”

\---

The gardener silently slipped his hedge clippers back into his bag and stalked to the next shrub. He was quite a distance away from the where the king and his father were, but what kind of spy would he be if he couldn’t read lips?

So, the mutt and his bitch were expecting a child? His boss would find that information very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, so there is a plot here. This story isn't just a vehicle for angst, suffering and smut. Probably. I guess.
> 
> Ruslan and Ludmilla is actually a poem/play/fairy tale by the Russian poet Pushkin. Ruslan is a name used across Central Asia, while Ludmilla is primarily Slavic so I think it fits the Almyran/Fodlan relationship well. 
> 
> Tashken and Ferghana are real clans in Uzbekistan. 
> 
> I want to add in more of my children from the Golden Deer. I gotta find a way to work them in somehow.
> 
> I can't promise more smut next chapter, but I can promise suffering. Anyway, thanks for the comments, kudos and support!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so very much the sorry. I'm a very slow writer and deserve to be beaten with hard sticks. I wrote a lot though; take all this angst as my apology.
> 
> Also Byleth in Smash? Cool right?

Chapter 3

Emir Mahdi sat at his desk rubbing his beard thoughtfully. One of his spies in the royal palace at Parsa had informed him that the Queen of Fodlan was expecting a child. That whelps child. 

  
Of course he had expected that a child would come about from that blasted union. That was expected. What was not expected was how quick it happened. He couldn’t help but smirk a little. Maybe that brat had a bit of Almyran in him after all?

  
But it didn’t matter. Their child could not be allowed to neither exist nor take over the throne. It was impossible. 

  
Their child would link Almyra and Fodlan together, possibly forever. No longer two separate countries but a single, joined union, under a bastard hybrid king or queen. 

  
The consequences, in Mahdi’s opinion, were staggering in their horror. 

  
Those Fodlanese, weak, superstitious, and pathetically joined to their goddess, would be flooding the borders of his emirate. Of the whole country. They would bring their damned religion with them, weakening the perfect Almyra into the same bastard state as its leader. Not to mention the political realities. He had heard rumors of a buildup of forces within the Mauryan Empire, even as far to the east as the Zhong Empire, in fear of the alliance of Fodlan and Almyra. 

  
The Almyra that he loved and grew up in would be no more. The traditions and values that he had so ferociously protected his entire life would be ground to dust under the onslaught of the changes those Fodlanese would bring. And, spirits forbid, what if his little daughter were to be taken in by one of those wretches, the same as his former king…?

  
“Payam!” Mahdi barked, sending his subordinate rushing into the room.

“Yes my lord?”

  
“Send out black letters calling for an urgent meeting in three weeks, Sunday.”

  
“Of course my lord”, Payam bowed low and left. 

  
Mahdi leaned back, his hand rushing to worry his beard again. No, the child could not be permitted to live, nor ascend the throne. He and the emirs loyal to his cause would see to that.

  
\---

  
Byleth sat resting on the balcony from her palace in Derdriu. Her swollen feet were propped up, and beside her were a bevy of sweet treats and tea. She sat absentmindedly chewing on a small cake, watching as ships sailed in and out of the harbor. This was her favorite spot in the entire palace, and the fresh breeze from the harbor helped with the heat from the hot Blue Sea Moon. If anyone had told her being pregnant during the summer was this torturous, she would have never let Claude touch her. 

  
She thought of Claude and smiled, moving a hand to rest on her stomach. She hadn’t seen him since their last meeting at Fodlans Locket, but he would be here for a full three months for the birth. His letters were increasingly frazzled, as he described trying to prepare everything and everyone for his departure. Apparently his father was the most troublesome, preferring to sit on his pillows and relax in retirement then get to work. The only one who could rouse him to action was Ludmilla.

  
Ludmilla had proven surprisingly motivated in preparing the father for his brief exit from retirement, and the son for fatherhood. Claude wrote that his mother had started weekly baby lessons, from how to sooth a colic to the proper way to fold and change nappies. His punishments for failing any lesson were swift and brutal, with a promise that if even a single scratch were laid on her grandchild he would experience much worse.

  
Neither Byleth nor Claude doubted her sincerity. 

  
In contrast her letters to Byleth were comforting and sweet. Since Byleth lacked a mother of her own, she had taken it upon herself to instruct her in what to expect from the pregnancy: the swollen feet, the tender breasts, the sore back, the night cravings. Her downright touching letters filled Byleth with a strange, foreign sensation. Was this motherly love?

  
She loved her father, deeply. His death was the first time in her life that her body had ever been moved to tears. And he loved her. But his love was brusque, rough and sarcastic; even on his deathbed he couldn’t help but to snicker at the irony of her first tears finally coming at the end of his life. He was never one for deep heart to hearts, soft words or tenderness. He called her ‘kid’, let her drink swigs from his side flask at age 11 and cackled when she toppled drunk from their horse. 

  
Her mother-in-law, in contrast, called her dear. She had sent her a lifetime supply of Almyran remedies for morning sickness and nausea. Every question about pregnancy that Byleth asked was answered with compassion and understanding. 

  
The only thing she would not give was her presence. On the day she left Derdriu her father had spit obscenities at her, and told her that he never wanted to see her rag headed, dirt skinned Almyran fiancée nor her whore face ever again. And her brother had stood by, arms crossed, silent. His silence told her everything. So she vowed that she would never again set foot in Fodlan, and she meant it. 

  
Claude had often told Byleth that he was jealous of how gentle his mother was with her, in contrast to the severe ‘corrections’ he was given. 

  
“You were right that she wanted to spar, but she was not nearly as frightening as you made her seem” Byleth had told Claude the night after her first meeting with his parents, “She was very kind and gentle. She even called me ‘dear’”

  
“Pfft, she never calls me ‘dear’” he had mumbled between her breasts, pouting.

  
“Maybe she just likes me?”

  
“Maybe”, Claude rearranged himself, slinking up from her chest to stifle a yawn in the nape of her neck, “But I think she just sees a lot of herself in you. You guys are really similar after all”

  
And that was true. But as she discovered more about Ludmilla, Byleth couldn’t help but feel that that was not the full story. At any time they all ate together, Ludmilla ate first; even if that meant swatting Claude or Ruslans hands away from the food. Was she protecting them from poisoning? On their tour of the city, she had twisted Claude by the ear at seemingly random times, pushing him howling into one store or the next. But Byleth noticed it was always when they were in line with the minarets scattered around Parsa. Was she protecting him from archers? 

  
On her face she was just as rough and brusque as her own father had been. But Byleth felt that years of protecting Claude had simply hardened her, and forced her to harden Claude too in order to survive. Meeting Byleth, someone who she did not have to protect, allowed the gentleness within her to flow freely, not simply seep through the cracks in her rocky façade. That was how she showed love. That was the kind of mother she was.

  
What kind of mother will I be? Byleth mused, looking to the sky. What kind of mother do I want to be?

  
\---

  
Byleths contemplations were cut short by a loud bang, as her bay doors were swung open, and Hilda rushed in.

  
“Oh professor, yoohoo! It’s your favorite student-vassal and I come bearing gifts!”

  
She was right; her arms were laden with various boxes, all tied up with a variety of colorful velvet ribbons and wrapping paper. 

  
Before Byleth could answer, she heard a deep sigh.

“I am so sorry Byleth, she grabbed those from your table…”

  
It was Marianne, following behind Hilda, shaking her head.

  
“The nobles keep sending her gifts for the baby and she hasn’t even _opened_ them Marianne,” Hilda said, her voice dripping with faux concern, “It is a breach of decorum, it’s a travesty! A social disaster!” With that she dropped the boxes unceremoniously to the ground, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a mime of distress. 

  
Byleth laughed out loud, and even Marianne stifled a giggle behind her hand.

  
“You sound like Lorenz” Byleth sniggered.

  
“Don’t insult me,” Hilda sneered, grabbing a box from where she had dropped them and plopping herself down across from Byleth, “We can open some of these up during tea.”

  
Marianne was still standing, and diplomatic as ever.

  
“We shouldn’t. Those are for Byleth and the baby”

  
Hilda rolled her eyes, “Oh Mari, stop it. It’s not as if I’d let the professors baby wear any of this stuff anyway”, she turned to Byleth with a toothy grin, “I will take it as a personal affront to House Goneril if the royal baby isn’t always dressed in Hilda chic”

Byleth smiled and nodded, “I wouldn’t dream of anything different”

  
\---

  
They had worked their way through half the presents (and nearly guffawed themselves to death when they found Lorenz’s gift-a most noble jeweled pacifier, far too large for a baby, in the shape of a rose. There was an apology note attached from Leonie), when Marianne picked up a rather small box. It was covered in crisp taffeta, and wrapped in a delicate paper ribbon. 

  
“Who is that one from Mari?” Hilda asked

  
Marianne turned the box over in her hand, revealing a note attached to the top, written in elegant flowing script, “From the Lords of Khuzestan, a gift for her Royal Highness and Child.”

  
“This one’s from Almyra”

  
“Let me see this one”, Byleth reached for the box, and turned it over carefully in her hands. Claude had warned her that the birth of their child would bring dangers from Almyran lords who were still unhappy about Claude’s reforms. And, of course, Claude himself. Was this one of those dangers? 

  
She jiggled it, and turned it over again. It didn’t feel as if there was a spring mechanism inside. Something waiting for when an unsuspecting person tripped the mechanism, unleashing an arrow, or poison or who knows what else. Something rustled when she shook it, but it most certainly wasn’t anything with weight. She ripped the ribbon and taffeta covering and slowly opened the box.

  
Cloth. A deep goldenrod bolt of cloth. When Byleth lifted it out of its box, it revealed itself to be a blanket, delicately embroidered around the edges with a scene presumably from the area of Khuzestan; date palms and little birds and animals playfully dodging up and around the tree’s. Nothing dangerous at all; perfect to wrap a little baby in.

  
Marianne clapped her hands in delight, “Oh Byleth, that’s beautiful”

  
Hilda nodded her head, “I’ll allow it!”

  
It was beautiful, and delicate too. Whoever did the embroidery must have been a-

  
-Hurk

  
A sudden splash of red blood on the beautiful golden cloth and Marianne and Hilda’s horrified faces were the only clue Byleth had at first that something had gone horribly wrong. It was only when she looked down and saw a thin arrow sticking awkwardly out of her belly that she realized what it was.

  
Her diminished, but still sharp mercenary intuition kicked in. She forced herself to move on from the pain, and worry (the baby, the baby; but I can go back, I can go back), to determine where the arrow had flown from. 

  
Half a second was all it took for her too look up. There. The northwest corner of the castle, the roof. There was someone there, notching, and aiming bow. Another arrow. For her head? Could she use divine pulse with an arrow in her head? Her heart?

  
Within a second she had already grasped the familiar strings of time, willing herself to the past. 

  
\---

  
Marianne picked up a rather small box. It was covered in crisp taffeta, and wrapped in a delicate paper ribbon.

  
“Who is that one from Mari?” Hilda asked

  
Byleth frowned as the same scene from only two minutes ago replayed again. That assassin was no amateur; an accurate shot from the roof of the castle to her was the work of a professional. And that professional had purposely aimed for her belly, waiting for the moment when she was most exposed. It was when she had lifted her arms to admire the golden blanket. Was it the baby? Was the baby the real target and not her? But before she had gone back the assassin was notching another arrow. Did he intend on finishing her off, or to make sure the baby was dead?

  
“Professor?” Marianne asked, startling Byleth out of her thoughts, “Is something the matter? You look upset”

  
Both Marianne and Hilda were staring at her. Byleth supposed she must have looked particularly angry; being nearly murdered did that to a person. 

  
A quick flick of her eyes alerted her that the assassin was still on the roof; how long had he even been there, unknown to them, waiting for the perfect chance to strike? 

She smiled tightly at her companions, “Act normal. There’s an assassin on the roof behind you two. I think he’s targeting me.”

Their expressions changed instantly, their previous relaxed demeanors tightening. Marianne flexed her fingers, preparing herself to cast any spell, healing or offensive. Hilda’s muscles contracted, her fists tight. Byleth couldn’t help but be proud. Their skills hadn’t diminished in these more peaceful times, and they were disciplined enough to not immediately look behind themselves and alert the assassin. She had taught them well. 

  
“Marianne, the minute I open this box and pull out the present, I want you to cast Cutting Gale at 11 o’clock, 200 meters”

  
Marianne nodded, eyes set, determined.

  
Byleth opened the box, lifting up the gold cloth to admire the blanket again. She had lifted it nearly out of the box when she shouted, “_Now_ Marianne!”

  
Marianne moved with practiced precision and grace. She pivoted herself on the chair, hands moving in sync in order to cast a critical Cutting Gale at the location of the assassin. The arrow was already in route, but could do nothing in the face of Marianne’s spell. Neither could the assassin. Byleth heard a brief, but nasty, scream and watched as the bifurcated assassin’s two parts tumbled down the roof.

  
Hilda looked down, watching the assassin’s remains bounce down the castles roofs, and shook her head, “Geez, remind me to never make you angry Marianne”

  
\---

  
Claude sat at his desk, head in his right hand, and Byleth’s letter informing him of the assassination attempt balled up in his left. 

  
It was bad enough that there had been an assassination attempt, and a rather close one at that. But from what they could gather from the assassin’s remains, he was Almyran.

  
That was bad. It was one thing if someone from Fodlan wanted to assassinate her; well not good but there were still so many loyalists to Edelgarde, it at least made sense. 

  
But an Almyran assassin meant someone hated her, or him, enough in order to take the time, money, and effort in order to send an assassin all the way to Derdriu. That kind of dedication wasn’t the work of a lone wolf. And it wouldn’t go away with the death of this one assassin. There would be another attempt. And another. And another. Until they finally succeeded. 

Or until he stomped them out. 

  
But could he really leave now, like this? 

  
“You look deep in thought”

  
It was his mother. He didn’t bother to raise his head. 

  
“You never knock”

  
“I _did_ knock. Many times in fact. You just were too lost in your own head to notice”

  
Claude sighed and finally lifted his head from his hand. He was in no mood for quick wordplay or sparring with his mother, not today.

  
“_Madar_, please, I’d really rather be left alone right now”

  
Ludmilla acted as if she had not heard him, and moved around to face him behind the office desk. 

  
“I heard an assassin from Almyra attacked Byleth?”

  
“Yes.” As usual, news moved fast in the palace.

  
“Was it the Hashashin?” Ludmilla asked, her eyes narrowing

  
“I don’t know” Claude answered wearily

  
“What will you do?”

  
“I don’t know”

  
They stood in stony silence like that for what seemed like hours. Just when Claude was preparing to ask his mother to give him some privacy, a hand reached out to pull him close. Ludmilla wrapped Claude’s head in a hug, pressing him to her stomach. 

  
Claude sniggered, despite the alarm bells going off in his head, “What is this? Don’t tell me you’re about to confess some deep dark family secret. Because if you are I’d rather-ouch!-“

  
Ludmilla tugged hard on his stray hair, “Shut-up. You never know when to just let things be”

  
Claude laughed into his mother’s stomach, “You’re right _madar_, you’re right”

  
They were moved to silence again until Ludmilla spoke.

  
“Do you remember when you were almost killed when you were small?”

  
“Mmmhmm, how could I forget? You killed a guy in front of me and then hugged me like this. That’s not something a kid just forgets”

  
Ludmilla looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling. “No, I suppose not. But do you remember anything else?”

  
Claude closed his eyes, “Mmm, nope, not really. You and father let me sleep in your bed. And you were always close by after…”

  
“Then you don’t remember….”

  
She waited a beat until continuing, 

  
“You don’t remember but a week or so after that I loaded you on my horse and left Parsa.”

  
Claude jerked away from his mother’s embrace to look up at her in shock

  
“What!?”

  
She nodded her head, “I fully intended on riding all the way back to Derdriu and begging my father to take us in. I guess you don’t remember because you were so small. Perhaps you thought it was just a trip. You were always so happy to ride with me…you never asked where we were going, not once. We made it as far as the border”

  
“Why didn’t you continue on?”

  
Ludmilla was quiet for a minute, her face impassive as she mulled over her words.

  
“If we had continued on to Derdriu you would have been safer. But my family would never have accepted you. Back then, I thought my brother would have children, heirs. They would inherit everything; all you would be is a Riegan half-breed bastard. They might even have tried to marry you off in some awful crest marriage. At least in Almyra you were in line for the throne.”

  
Claude frowned, “So you traded my safety for a title?”

  
She gave a bitter laugh, “Ha! Of course you would say that. But think carefully; after living in that place before you went to school, would you have really been happy growing up there?”

  
Claude grimaced

  
“See?” she laughed, then shrugged, “Or maybe you _would_ have been happy. Maybe father and brother would have had a change of heart? Maybe I should have taken a boat to Morfis and raised you among the dunes? Maybe we would have died on the trip? Who knows? In that moment at the border there were a thousand things I could have done, and I decided to go back.”

  
“How did you know that decision was the right one? Out of thousands?”

  
Ludmilla smiled and pulled him close again, threading her fingers through his hair to detangle knots. 

  
“I didn’t. That’s the thing about being a parent Claude. We can’t tell the future. All we can do is try to make the best decisions with the information we have at the time.”

  
\---

  
Byleth was lightly napping on her chaise, hot and bored. In the aftermath of the assassination her access to her balcony was strictly prohibited, leaving her not only trapped in her stuffy room but bored as well. Her advisors had limited her queenly duties and that left her with little to do but sit, read, train (awkwardly) and gestate. 

  
Suddenly a strong gust of wind scattered her out of her stupor, leaving her sputtering and cursing. Where the hell had that come from-?

  
“Sorry, sorry! You just looked hot and I remember a little wind magic soooo…”

  
It was Claude, not looking the least bit sorry, waving his hands in an apology. He was in his regal traveling outfit, but noticeably dirty. He had obviously come straight to her after arriving in Derdriu. 

  
“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were still coming.” She really hadn’t. She was expecting a letter any day now from Claude informing her that he was canceling his three month stay in order to hunt down whoever had tried to assassinate her. 

  
He moved to his knees in front of her, until he was at eye level, and cupped her face in his hands.

  
“And miss the birth of our child? Not likely.”

  
Byleth frowned, “But what about the assassins? How will we find them?”

  
“Nurlan and father are on the case. And it’s much safer if I’m here to guard you at night; it’s not like you can sleep with your guards, no?”

  
Byleth ignored his attempt at humor, “Are you sure this is the right decision? What if the people who hired the assassin’s try to make a move in Almyra while you’re away?”

  
Claude smiled, a hand moving to her belly, “I’m not sure at all. A million things could happen. But I know that right now I want to be here with you…and him. Or her. So that’s what I’m going to do and I’ll deal with the consequences later.”

  
He moved his free hand to the back of her head, moving her forward so that their noses touched. He breathed in her scent and then whispered, low and needy into her ear, “And anyway, if there is a coup you’ll take in the exiled king of Almyra won’t you? I could be your highnesses royal maid, I could service you every day…”

  
Byleth chuckled and wrapped her two arms around his neck, so that his face was deep in the curve of her neck, “Oh? But how will I know you’re up for the job? It looks like you’ll have to prove your credentials first.”

  
Claude moved his head, grasping at Byleths mouth. Their tongues snaked over each other, fighting for dominance. Claude sucked at her open mouth, desperate to get more of her taste. When they finally separated with a wet pop, both of their faces were red, and their lips bruised. 

  
“Was that good enough?” Claude asked, breath heavy.

  
Byleth didn’t answer, simply wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into another heady kiss. 

  
No, this job interview was clearly going to take the whole day.

  
\---

  
“A lifetime supply of meat. Think about it. An endless supply of Almyran deer, white tipped quail, wild boar…”

  
“That’s so…ugh!…but no, no can do. My job is to guard this door and that’s what I’m gonna do! So shoo!”

  
This is ridiculous, Claude thought, as Raphael folded his arms and shook his head. He was the father; why shouldn’t he be allowed in the room? But as soon as Byleth’s labor had started he had been rushed out and told to stay out. Repeated attempts to sneak in had finally forced Marianne to grab the closest knight, which happened to be Raphael and instruct him to not let the Almyran king in. 

  
And now the only strategy he was left with was bribery. 

  
“Raphael, as king I have access to meats you’ve never even dreamed of, from lands far beyond even Almyra’s borders. Have you ever had a kinshi?”

  
Raphael’s curious eyes lit up; despite his hulking figure Claude couldn’t help but be reminded of a puppy. 

  
“What’s that?”

  
“Oh Raphael you don’t know what you’re missing! Their meat is so tender, so sweet, so soft! I had one once on a diplomatic trip and I thought I’d died in flavor heaven!” and now to reel him in, Claude smirked, “And I could get you one. Just let me in and you can have as many as I can fly over-

  
“You’ll do no such thing, because you will not step one foot in that room Claude”

  
“_Goh_”, Claude muttered under his breath, cursing in his native Almyran

  
It was Lorenz, sternly huffing towards him, looking all the world like he had sniffed something particularly nasty under his nose.

  
“_You_,” Lorenz said, sternly pointing a finger at him, “Are to return to the sitting room with Hilda and I, while her majesty gives birth. Now, if you please.”

  
Claude rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, I’d much rather be sitting listening to Hilda snore and you prattle on about my child’s fifth name rather than welcome it into the world.”

  
Lorenz narrowed his eyes, “A royal baby’s title is no matter to scoff at Claude. I do not know how it is done in Almyra but these names are transferred from generation to generation, and are used to signify to the populace-

  
“Snobbery?”

  
“_Duty_ and _Dignity_,” Lorenz hissed out, barely concealing his ire, “Something you clearly know little about. For example, it is your duty to be waiting outside of the birthing chamber, praying earnestly to the Goddess for a safe birth.”

  
Before Claude could give a witty retort, a baby’s cry pealed out from the room. 

  
He made a move for the door before he felt a strong grip on his collar, dragging him backward. 

  
“I think not!” Lorenz was pulling him back from the door, “They will call us when her majesty and highness are ready to be seen.”

  
Claude could do nothing but stare pleadingly at Raphael, who was smiling and waving him off and giving no indication that he was going to help him, as he was dragged back by Lorenz.

  
\---

  
Byleth stared blankly at the two bundles in her arms. 

  
Twins. _Twins_. 

  
She had been so exhausted, everything happened so fast, and the second child had come so quickly after the other that she hadn’t even noticed there were two until Marianne and the midwife had laid them in her arms. 

  
A girl and a boy.

  
Her brain was going into overdrive and she couldn’t tell if it was her own adrenaline from the birth or the realization that everything she had planned for hadn’t prepared her for this. 

  
It was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ludmilla’s instruction hadn’t prepared her for this. This was real. They were real. She was really a mother. She was going to have to feed them, protect them, against assassins, revolt. Hadn’t Dimitri’s father been killed in front of him? What would happen if she died? Would they go down the same path as him; despair and grief turned into insanity?

  
And there was two of them. 

  
And wasn’t she supposed to be happy? Ludmilla had said that as soon as the baby was put into her arms she would fall in love. But she didn’t feel love; only worry. And dread.

  
What kind of mother doesn’t love her own children, she thought, her mind growing increasingly frantic. It had been hard enough for her father to deal with his stony faced, seemingly emotionless daughter. What kind of mother could the ‘Ashen Demon’ really be?

  
She looked down at them, attempting to will some sort of motherly affection. They were precious; light brown skin, scrunched but chubby faces, mops of soft, downy, curly brown hair. If Marianne hadn’t told her they were a boy and a girl she would have thought they were identical. 

  
Nothing. Only wild apprehension. 

  
Marianne leaned over her, her smile bright. She doesn’t know what I’m thinking, Byleth thought, if she did she wouldn’t be smiling at me like that.

  
“Would you like us to let Claude in? We are done cleaning up…we can let him back in if that’s what you would like.”

  
Byleth gave a forced smile and nodded. 

  
It took only a minute after Marianne left that she heard fast steps coming down the hall, and Claude bursting through the door.

  
“It’s true right, what Marianne said, twins?”

  
Claude turned to her and smiled wide. He practically bounced over.

  
“It is! Who would of thought, we never even guessed! You didn’t look like you were carrying twins at all!”

  
How could he be so happy right now, Byleth thought as Claude reached out his arms. How can he not be scared to death?

  
“Here, here, let me hold one By, please!?”

  
Byleth moved her arm so that he could grasp the bundle in the crook of her left arm. She noted that it was the girl. Perhaps they aren’t so identical, she thought, watching as Claude cradled his daughter. She looks a bit bigger than her brother. She looked down at the remaining baby in her arms. He was smaller than his sister, slightly lighter too. Byleth frowned. Should a baby be this small? What if he was sick?

  
Claude was practically cooing at their daughter, tracing her face with his free fingers.

  
“We’re keeping the names we chose before right? If it was a girl or a boy? I guess it doesn’t even matter now, ha. I think they’d sound nice together.”

  
Claude looked down at Byleth after she didn’t answer. She was still frowning down at their son, teeth clenched.

  
“Unless you don’t want that…” Claude said slowly, trying to make sense of his wife’s surprising mood, “We can always change the name…”no, Claude quickly corrected his thoughts. There was no way she was upset about the names. She had been the one to choose them after all.

  
“By, what’s wrong?”

  
When hot tears spilled from her eyes, Claude moved from his standing position to sit on the bed. Cradling his baby daughter in his left arm, he moved his hands to cup Byleths cheek, wiping away tears with his calloused finger tips.

  
“Shh, shhh, dearest, _joon-am_, tell me what’s wrong?”

  
“How are we going to do this?” Byleth sobbed out, “How are we even going to do this?” At the root of all of her worries and anxieties was the knowledge that in a week Claude would depart for Almyra. He would leave her alone again, this time instead of with an entire country to lead, he would be leaving her with two small helpless infants. Infants who, apparently, had a hit out on them from his own country.

  
“Here, c’mere”, Claude moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder. He pivoted himself so that he could lean against the bed’s headboard, and gently pushed Byleth onto his chest, so that her head rested on his pectorals. 

  
Claude’s chest always gave her comfort and this time was no different. The steady thrum of his heart, the slow even keel of his breath. Even the slight curly hairs that she felt on her cheek; she loved every part of him. He moved his hand from her shoulder to her scalp, rubbing soothing circles with his fingertips, and keeping her close to him. It was almost like a massage, listening to the sounds of his body, his touch, the rumble in his chest as he kept ‘shhing’ to sooth her cries. She felt her breathing even out; if she had a beating heart she would have said it too slowed down thanks to Claude’s ministrations. 

  
“Better?” Claude looked down at her, a warm smile across his face as she weakly nodded her head, “Look who’s up. He’s looking right at you By.”

  
She looked down to see her son staring at her with sleepy green eyes (hers or Claude’s; she couldn’t tell). Her anxieties melted into determination as she looked at him, wiping one of her tears from his impossibly soft cheeks. So impossibly soft, and helpless. He needed her; so did his sister. And there was nothing to be afraid of because she loved these children so much that she would ensure nothing ever harmed them. Nothing from Fodlan, nor Almyra. Not the church nor Rhea; Seteth or nobles. 

  
Not even Claude. 

  
So this is what my father felt, she thought as she nuzzled her son against a damp cheek. She understood completely now why he had left the church, going so far as he did for her. Even dying for her. She understood completely. 

  
“I’ll never let anything happen to you, to any of you”, she whispered into his cheek, “Claude, Ayelet and Khalil; I promise”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per Behind the Name, Ayelet means, "Means "doe, female deer, gazelle". It is taken from the Hebrew phrase אַיֶלֶת הַשַׁחַר ('ayelet hashachar), literally "gazelle of dawn", which is a name of the morning star."
> 
> C'mon, "deer of dawn"? That's the perfect Claude daughter name.
> 
> Khalil means "friend", which also makes a lot of sense for Claude, "Friendship Power", Von Riegan.
> 
> I'll keep working hard, writing angst and drama and smut. :D


End file.
